They boarded the hired barouche with a collapsible hood, and Elizabeth sat opposite her aunt and uncle. Tucking the skirt of her favorite day dress under her legs in case a breeze blew into their uncovered vehicle, she waited to see if her aunt would say more about the property. Or the family.
Instead, her aunt asked questions that Elizabeth hoped to avoid. “Tell us about Mr. Darcy, Lizzy. Your letters reported that he was in Hertfordshire last November, I believe. What sort of man is he?”
Elizabeth’s hands trembled. Tightly squeezing her palms together to keep them still, she measured her breaths to slow her racing heartbeat. Where she had thought of Mr. Darcy daily, she had spoken of him to no one, not even Jane.
She trusted her aunt and uncle implicitly. Nevertheless, she was unable to put her feelings into words. Therefore, she reported occurrences as she remembered them. “My first impression of him was that he was the most prideful, arrogant person I had ever met.” She paused. “No, I am not correct. That impression came later. In truth, my very first impression was when he entered the Meryton assembly with Mr. Bingley and his family. He stood at the back, surveying the crowd. Mr. Darcy is strikingly handsome. Very tall with broad shoulders. His hair is dark and wavy. His blue eyes are piercing. What struck me was how unhappy he looked to be at the assembly. Where Mr.Bingley was all smiles, his friend appeared to be dour. It was not until months later that I learned the reason for his discomfort.”
“What was it, Lizzy? Was he in ill health?”
“No, Aunt. You see, whispers of his circumstances met him at the door. Mama and Charlotte’s mother were loudly guessing his annual income and how they might benefit by throwing one of their daughters at him.”
“Oh, no, Lizzy. The poor man.” Her aunt sympathized. “And poor you. You must have been mortified.”
How like her aunt to consider the reactions of others, which was why Elizabeth strove to be like her in conduct and attitude rather than imitate her mother.
Edward Gardiner, a businessman of excellent repute, added, “Do not distress yourself, my dear ladies. It is often this way, for has not my sister always said that a single man in possession of a fortune must be in want of a wife?”
“Yes, Uncle.” The reminder of how often her mother’s conduct embarrassed her added to Elizabeth’s discomfort.
He continued, “And I must say that it worked well for me. Within a month of receiving the first revenue payout from my initial investment in the shipping business, I met my sweet Maddie. After twelve years, I cannot imagine my life without her.”
She patted her husband’s knee. “Thirteen years, my dear.”
Her uncle blushed. “You are correct, as always.”
As they entered the park surrounding Pemberley, Elizabeth could not help but note the warm affection and respect between Edward and Madeline Gardiner. She knew that they shared everything. Her uncle routinely discussed his business with his wife. She supported him in every way possible. Elizabeth yearned to have the same level of closeness in marriage someday.
Her aunt gestured toward the approaching structure. “Once we cross this bridge, we are on Pemberley estate.”
The park was large, containing a great variety of foliage. They entered at one of its lower points and drove for some time through a beautiful wood that stretched across the western border of the valley. The road wound through the valley, tracing a path next to a wide lake where ducks paddled and swans glided over the pristine water. Elizabeth’s mind was too full for conversation. Every view was stunning.
In the distance, she could see a man and a lady astride two powerful mounts, galloping across the field. Peering as closely as possible, it was easy to determine that the man was not Mr. Darcy.
“What do you think of Pemberley?” her aunt asked.
Turning in her seat, Elizabeth gaped at the sight.Pemberley.Situated above the valley, surrounded by a ridge of forest-covered mountains, sat a large, handsome stone building.
Holding a hand to her chest, she said, “I have never seen a place for which nature has done more.”
Her uncle noted, “Or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. You did not exaggerate, Maddie. Pemberley is superior to both Chatsworth and Lyme Park.”
Impressions overwhelmed Elizabeth. How Pemberley perfectly reflected its master. Mr. Darcy. Stately, handsome, and powerfully built, just like his house.Without closing her eyes, she could still recall the strength in his arms as he carried her back to Netherfield Park.
When they descended the hill and crossed a bridge over a stream that ran from behind the house to the lake, the apprehension of finally learning what happened to Mr. Darcy unnerved her. Surely, he had to be well, for who else had the skill to manage such a property?
Her heart was in her throat when they pulled up to the door. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into the hall, and Elizabeth, while waiting for the housekeeper, had leisure to wonder at her being where she was. Through the window at either side of the front door, she admired the lovely prospect. As they were guided through the public rooms of the house, from every window, there was beauty to behold.
The rooms were lofty and handsome, and the furnishings suitable to the fortune of their owner. Where Longbourn was cozy, Netherfield Park, formal, and Rosings, extravagantly gaudy, Pemberley was elegant.
Running her hand over the waxed surface of the grand staircase banister, Elizabeth’s emotions warred within. She wanted to be in Mr. Darcy’s house to satisfy her curiosity about his lifestyle and to get to know him better by surveying his surroundings. At the same time, she wanted to rush away before she learned that he continued to suffer or that he cared nothing for her.
Strolling through the long picture gallery, Elizabeth stopped in front of a large painting of a younger Mr. Darcy, likely done soon after he left university.
Her aunt asked, “Is this a fair likeness, Lizzy?”
“It is.” The artist captured his subject’s chiseled features, including the warmth of his eyes. “He is more mature in his looks now, Aunt. I suspect that this is likely a result of carrying the responsibility of his estate by himself.”
The housekeeper asked, “Do you know my master, miss?”
